Kink

by Nikki Sex

“I’ll brush your hair, later,” he says. “Right now, it’s time for a spanking.”

  Chapter 17.

  “Sometimes what seems like surrender isn't surrender at all. It's about what's going on in our hearts…”

  – Nicholas Evans

  ~~~

  My skin is bright red from vigorous brushing. My entire body thrums. I feel more alive than I ever have before.

  I’m invigorated. I’m also scared, excited, nervous and aroused.

  Paul studies me for a moment. His eyes glitter with lust and something else. I swear he knows exactly how I feel. This emotional mind-reading seems to be working both ways. I can see that he’s looking forward to hurting me, but you know what? I don’t care.

  Shit. As part of a kinky sex scene, I’m going to be spanked. I’ve always associated spankings with parental rage and doing something wrong. Lucky for me I’ve been a good girl.

  My total number of spankings so far in my life? Zero. This will be my first.

  He unbuckles his belt, and pulls the leather out of the loops of his pants. This distinctive, pleasant sound, stirs sexy memories of other times when Paul got naked.

  This time he doesn’t get naked.

  For a moment, I quake in terror. Does he intend to use that belt on me? Instead he sits on the bed, gives me a welcoming smile, and pats his leg encouragingly.

  I frown with uncertainty, but lay on my stomach, arranging myself across his muscular thighs. I’m upside down. I feel intense but fleeting vertigo from the sudden rush of blood to my head. My hair hangs down over my eyes.

  He casually grabs me by the nape and buttocks, settling me on his lap just as he likes. Wow. Electric spikes of erotic sensation roll through me. It’s so hot how he takes control and positions me according to his desire. Whew.

  With the ease of familiarity, he binds my arms behind my back with his leather belt. “I’ve really got to get some cuffs, rope and other play gear for when we’re not at the club,” he says. “But, meanwhile, we’ll make do with what we have.”

  Paul’s bedroom looks different from this angle. He does, too. His strong male grip, fires my blood. In this lowered position, spread across his lap, I feel vulnerable and available for anything he wants. My stomach flutters and flip-flops. Jesus. What a turn on.

  Tentatively, I tug on the belt restraint on my wrists. Paul’s never bound me and man, is it a turn-on. He captures me, holds me and won’t let me go. Why does this make me so happy? I’m at his mercy and it’s blissful and divine.

  “Tell me how you feel, and what you’re thinking,” he says.

  I have to giggle, because he’s asking a lot of me. “Um. I’m pretty nervous, but I’m turned on, too. My skin is warm and buzzing, thanks to your energetic attentions with my hairbrush…” I clear my throat. “And I like lying across your lap.”

  “Why? Why do you like being in this position?” He softly, oh, so softly strokes the tender flesh of my neck, back and arms with just the tips of his fingers. My hyper-alive, hypersensitive skin thrums with pleasure.

  Paul’s hands are a tactile, sensual delight. I’ve never known such an erotic caress. He begins to squeeze and massage my buttocks, but stops suddenly. This momentarily pulls me out of my happy haze.

  “Emily,” he says sternly. “Am I distracting you too much to answer? Why do you like being in this position?”

  ‘Why,’ is a good question. For a moment, I think about it. “I feel helpless, but also safe and loved. Isn’t that nuts? But it’s true.”

  “Good, girl,” he says huskily, kissing my neck. “You are safe and very much loved.”

  Paul kisses and nibbles my skin, trailing up my back and shoulders. The feel of his soft lips, and warm breath on my super sensitized skin is astonishing. I moan. Pain absolutely increases pleasure … afterwards, anyway.

  He grips my bound wrists. Holding me tighter, he restrains me with strong and caring arms. What logical explanation is there for how this makes me feel? So loved and protected; wanton and aroused.

  “Do you know what I think?” he says with a husky whisper of warm breath against my ear. “I think that we’re perfect for each other.” He sits up again. “Do you want to know how I feel, having you here like this?”

  “Yes, Paul.”

  “I feel powerful and complete. This is how it’s supposed to be.”

  Well. I’m not psychic, but I swear that I can hear a combination of awe, appreciation and love in his voice that warms me more fully than that damn brush. He doesn’t easily or often confide his feelings. Stunned, I don’t know how to respond.

  “Are you ready to enjoy your first spanking?” he asks with brisk efficiency, glossing over what clearly constitutes an emotional outburst of feeling for him. “I’ve decided to use my hand, not your hairbrush. It’s more personal and intimate. Besides, I can feel the softness and heat of your skin that way.”

  I snort. “Sure.” It amuses me, this rationalization. I’m all for intimacy. How much could it really hurt? I have that safeword if it gets too bad.

  “Good. You took the brushing very well. Some women can climax during a spanking. Did you know that?”

  I laugh. “Nope, I didn’t know that.” A practical woman, I want to file that tidbit under trivial information that I’ll probably never use. Yet the possibility tantalizes me.

  “If you can climax during this spanking, you have my permission to do so.”

  “Thank you.” I make a sound between a laugh and a snicker. Have an orgasm while being spanked? I’m disoriented and out of my depth, in this position. I just can’t see how that’ll work. Except he has this way of making me come, so maybe…

  His palm descends, landing on my buttocks.

  Slap!

  The sound of his hand, slapping my bare bottom is incredibly erotic. I feel it, but it isn’t painful at all.

  Slap! Slap! Slap!

  He makes me deliciously warm. Like the brush, his blows awaken nerve endings on my skin. Unlike the brush, there’s no burning, or excruciating sting. Not yet anyway.

  He stops for a moment. “Spread your legs, Em,” he says.

  When I do, he uses both hands to part my folds, and massage my clit. My reaction is instantaneous. My hips jerk. I give a low moan. His application of that damn hairbrush between my legs, has awakened every nerve.

  Paul chuckles. “You’re drenched. You were made for this. You were made for me.”

  He becomes heavy-handed, and strikes me harder. The flat of his hand hits my buttocks, first one side, and then the other.

  Slap! Slap!

  I began to flinch and squirm under each smarting blow. One hand delivers slaps, a cruel, yet enticing punishment. The other hand fondles between my legs.

  My tormentor teases me with incredibly clever fingers. His caress traces between my folds. He gently plucks and pulls at my swollen, aching clit. I writhe and fidget, fighting to remain still.

  He continues, rhythmically slapping, slapping, slapping. And all the while he calms and praises. The sound flows over me in an intimate sensual caress. How does he do it? His deep, gentle voice is so sweet and understanding. It’s in direct contrast to my pain.

  I begin to struggle. When my movement annoys him, he traps my legs between his thighs, helping to restrain me and keep me immobile.

  I pant, breathing harder and harder.

  He strikes again and again, hitting harder and harder.

  Slap! Slap! Slap!

  “You have a great butt,” he says, his breath ragged from his efforts. “It’s so pretty – slap – marked by your hairbrush and all of my hand prints. I love – slap – your magnificent, red ass. Are you glad that I’m enjoying myself?”

  Warmed by this admission, I moan a muffled, barely audible yet heartfelt affirmative. He laughs lightheartedly.

  I try to imagine what I look like to him. My wrists are bound behind my back, while I’m draped over his lap, legs spread, and my normally white ass red. This whole erotic scene he has going on, is scorching h
ot. All of his attention is focused on me. Despite everything, I can only feel… grateful.

  Slap! Slap! Slap!

  He increases the amount of force he delivers until I feel hot tears. Now my eyes sting and burn, just like my ass which his palm has set on fire. With these last three spanks, I wail out long and loud.

  Paul laughs… he fucking laughs! My body tenses, rigid with anger, hurt and shame.

  Sensing my tension, he instantly stops and strokes my abused flesh so softly, so gently. In a quiet voice he explains. “Don’t mind me, rabbit. I swear to God I’m not laughing at you. You’re doing well – very well. You’re submission is incredible. It’s such an unbelievable rush. So… thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” I say sullenly. I’m still tense. I’m still upset.

  He clears his throat. “Listen, Em. You screamed with pain, but you didn’t stop me. You haven’t used your safeword. You’ve chosen to submit to me, despite what I’m doing. I only laughed because I’m happy. I love spanking you and I fucking love the sounds you’re making. They excite me like nothing else.”

  “Oh,” I say.

  “Do you want me to ease up? Do you want to use your safeword? Use it if I push you too far. I think I have a pretty good idea of your threshold. I’m being really careful, believe it or not. I love you, Em. You’re beautiful, brave and amazing. I want this to be good for both of us. Hurting you beyond your limits isn’t fun for me. More importantly, it would damage the trust between us.”

  Well. He had me at ‘I’m happy.’ Throw ‘I love you’ into the mix and I’m a goner. Until Paul laughed, I know I was enjoying everything about our scene together.

  I remember what else he said: “I love spanking you and I fucking love the sounds you’re making.”

  Sadist, I think. He really is a sadist.

  I knew this somewhere in the back of my mind, but now I really know it at a whole new level. The revelation takes my breath away. And if he’s a sadist, what does that make me?

  Paul continues to caress me. His fingers trail along my spine, and ribs, and gently, so gently he soothes my burning butt. I can’t believe how good it feels. His touch doesn’t just ease my pain, it turns it into unspeakable pleasure.

  I hear a soft moan, and realize the sound is coming from me.

  “Emily?”

  “I don’t want to use my safeword. I want to keep going.”

  That skillful hand of his keeps stroking feather-light, erotic circles until I moan louder. He’s rewarding me, I think for being brave enough to keep going. Stopping for a moment, he blows cool air over me.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have laughed. I swear to God that until you, I’ve never laughed while dominating a woman.”

  I turn my head up look at him, and I see honesty in his eyes. “Why not?”

  He shrugs and looks away, but keeps touching me, caressing and stroking. I don’t want him to stop. His expression darkens, his face is grim. I’ve known him long enough to see him falling into a black mood.

  Why does he get like this? Luckily, I usually can usually snap him out of it.

  “I’m comfortable with you, rabbit. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like something that’s always been kept tight inside of me, loosens when I’m around you.”

  I snort. “Yeah right, I’ve noticed. You’ve let that hand of yours loose all over my ass.”

  He chuckles this time, a light-hearted sound. It thrills me when Paul is happy. He’s always been too damn serious.

  “I’m okay,” I reassure him. “I did think that you were laughing at me. I trust you or I wouldn’t be doing this, believe me. I’ll use my safeword if I need to.”

  He bends over my back and kisses me. “Thank you.” He begins again, only now he’s back to soft and sexy blows.

  Slap! Slap!

  Paul regularly pauses, giving me breaks. He lets me collect myself each time, before he introduces me to higher levels of intensity.

  I’m beginning to expect it, heady with anticipation. During breaks he plays with me, stroking my slit and teasing my clit. Maddened by lust, I find myself hearing the music of Katy Perry’s “Dark Desire” in my mind. Talk about playing with Magic. Somehow ‘clit’ and ‘slit’ become a rhyming part of the lyrics. Man. Am I going crazy or what?

  Everything below my waist throbs and feels swollen. I’m hypersensitive all over. My body is full of delightful warmth. I find myself perversely enjoying his painful attention. My whole body responds. My need is all-consuming.

  Paul’s attention. I think in a dreamy, sexual fog. That’s important, I realize from some quiet, untouched place inside.

  Slap! Slap! Slap!

  I don’t care how I get it, but I need Paul’s approval, his love and attention. Eventually this constant, unrelenting pain gets to me. I’m crying. I’m sweating. I’m screaming. God. My hair tickles my face. This upside down vertigo, combined with all he’s doing to me, is overwhelming my senses. How much longer can I take this?

  But I don’t want to use my safeword. I don’t want him to stop.

  What’s wrong with me?

  “Breathe, Emily,” he orders me in that authoritative tone. “Take a deep breath.”

  I instantly do as he says, filling my lungs. The sound of his voice calms me. How did he know exactly what to say? I swear that Paul knows everything.

  “That’s right,” he murmurs while stroking my buttocks. “You’re doing very well.”

  Mmmmm, I sigh. His approval satisfies something deep within me. This isn’t sex, this is way beyond that pale desire. This is a much more primitive hunger. A craving to be wanted, taken and used. I ache in the depths of my being. It’s a need that only his dominance will assuage.

  To my surprise, using both hands, he suddenly spreads my butt cheeks apart. He pulls them wide open, exposing my intimate, tender flesh. I feel hot puffs warm of warm air against me. My nerves tense into a knot of uncertainty. I shiver and my back passage involuntarily clenches.

  “Beautiful,” he says in a husky growl.

  I’m too astonished to say anything. Bending forward, he swirls his tongue around my rim. He licks and hums, making soft sounds of male delight.

  “Jesus,” I gasp. The sensation is shocking, erotic and intense.

  White-hot lust and confusion swirl in my mind, battling for supremacy. What he’s doing is deeply disturbing. His tongue is in my butt! I’m so embarrassed and humiliated. I’m also glad that I thoroughly washed myself. I realize now, that he didn’t want me to use soap, because he must not like the taste.

  Paul’s brought my whole body alive by stimulating my skin. I’ve become aware of every part of it, all at once. Yet the feeling of him there rouses every carnal urge I’ve ever had. He not only heightens my perception of touch, but he opens the dam on my emotions.

  “Do you like this?” he asks casually, and then continues to probe and lick at my sensitive hole.

  I moan and close my eyes, to better concentrate and cope with an avalanche of intense emotions and sensations. In the hypersensitive state I’m in, all I can do is feel.

  What he’s doing is incredible. Mortifying or not, his tongue is divine. So, so, good. But it’s also dirty, it’s bad, it’s obscene and so very wrong. But fucking hell.

  I love it.

  He pauses. “Em,” he says, in a low voice. “Do you like it?” he repeats. “Tell me or I’ll stop.”

  This threat pushes through my euphoric fog and gets my attention. I try to marshal my thoughts. “Ah, um… it feels amazing,” I say breathlessly. I’m actually panting. My breath keeps hitching because I’ve been screaming and crying. I’ve never known so many new sensations and experiences.

  He chuckles darkly. “I knew you’d like it.” He brings some of the moisture that’s dripping from me, up to my back passage. With his thumb, he slowly begins to breach the tight muscle of my ring. I’m almost too tight for his thick thumb to enter.

  “Oh, God,” I gasp. This is a night of firsts.
I’ve never felt anything like this before.

  His laugh is quick and easy. “You and I are going to have so much fun together. You love being my sex toy, don’t you? Now relax. Open for me.”

  I make a conscious effort and he praises me, while he coaxes and encourages. My tight back passage opens, until his thumb is deep in my asshole. The lubrication from me is more than enough. It’s a little full and uncomfortable, but it doesn’t hurt.

  Once I get the hang of loosening that tight muscular ring, it’s easier for him to penetrate. He holds me, like someone might hold a bowling ball. Two thick fingers press deeply into my pussy, and his thumb is up my butt. He prods and strokes, until I’m moaning once more.

  This is so wrong.

  This is so right

  “I knew you’d like anal. Imagine what it will feel like, with my cock deep in your ass. I’ll fill you completely. The first time I take you there, you won’t believe how hard you’re going to come. And for me? There’s nothing more exciting than the thought of fucking your tight, virgin hole. No one’s been there before me. Would you like me to fuck your ass?”

  What a question. Do I want his dick up my backside? He and I have never really discussed limits. I suppose he feels that we know each other well enough to take things as they come. Until today, I’d considered anal sex to be a hard limit.

  Just now, I can’t for the life of me remember why.

  His muscular arm rests casually on my back, like he owns my body. His possessive care and use of me is so hot. His thumb is in my ass, his fingers in my pussy. Liquid heat pools in my belly. I’ve never been so turned on in my life.

  Self-consciousness, panic, pleasure, shame, shock and arousal all mingle together. Yet, in this realm, when it comes to full control of my body, I trust him completely. In fact, I adore him completely. I’ve loved Paul all of my life.

  I know then, that there’s no point in resisting.

  I let go of my fears. I let go of my inhibitions.

  I surrender all that I am.

  I’d promised myself that I’d give Paul my body, but never completely give him my heart. Now I realize that it’s already too late. Married or not, I’ve always been his. Someday, he’ll be unfaithful. Someday he’ll break my heart. Someday I’ll have to face a future without him.